~ surrender to yourself

Tag Archives: Travel

This year has not been all beer and skittles. Okay, there were a few pints of Guinness while we were in Ireland, but definitely no skittles. Of course, travel is only life being lived in a place other than home, so we can expect some challenges along the way.

My story begins five years ago. I had been diagnosed with breast cancer the year previously and it was my first year check up. The surgeon, with whom I had developed an immediate bond and trust, advised me to have a breast MRI as well as the high resolution mammogram. She told me at the time she only recommended this when she felt it was warranted due to the unpleasant nature of the test. I’ve written about this before, so I won’t detail it too much, but suffice it to say, she was right about the unpleasantness of the test. During the first MRI I had a panic attack. That was a first in my life. A panic attack feels like your body and brain have become disconnected from each other and are in a desperate struggle to gain back control; you can’t breathe deeply enough and you need to come out of your skin, all the while your brain struggles to make sense of it.

I knew from a friend of mine who had experienced panic attacks after having a detached retina, that they could come back at seemingly random moments in the future. I didn’t dwell on this idea, thinking that the main challenge would be for me to just return for subsequent, yearly MRI tests. That was a challenge, and thank goodness for Valium! A low dose taken only half an hour before the test, reduced the anxiety enough to establish steady breathing and relative calm. The rest I could overcome.

It never occurred to me that I would be on a tour through the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina when the next panic attack would happen three years later! It was a large-ish tour group, which, despite the cool autumn weather, made me warm. We had finished viewing the top floors and headed to the basement…through a tiny, curved and enclosed stone staircase, with no visible end. Three steps down the narrow staircase and instantly I knew, it was not a good idea. Not wanting to go into full panic mode I looked behind me. Fortunately there was no one, so I tapped my husband on the shoulder and told him I would be waiting for him outside when he finished.

When he emerged, half an hour later, I was sitting at a table with a drink and only the memory of the horrible feeling remained. He said he was sure he could take me down to the basement to see the servants’ quarters by entering the exit, since there was no one else coming out at the time. In we went. Sure enough, it was interesting and I was fine.

You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.’ You must do the thing you think you cannot do. –Eleanor Roosevelt

The next time the panic welled up in me was almost exactly a year later, also in a large-ish group, standing in a queue waiting to ascend the Space Needle tower in Seattle, Washington. We were there with another couple and we had already been up the tower the previous evening, but the tickets we held allowed a second visit. The consensus among the other three was a desire to see the view in the daylight, and so we would go again. (I am not a fan of high vantage points, usually preferring earthier details and experiences. I am also not a fan of crowds. At. All. That said, most of the time I do these things because I don’t want to retreat into a life of fear.)

About half an hour into waiting I felt my old nemesis welling up inside me. It is not simply a feeling of discomfort, it is an irrational terror that threatens to overwhelm. Knowing we still had a long ride up in a lift/elevator ahead of us, and also having already seen the view in gorgeous evening light, I said quietly to the group, ‘I will be waiting at a table over in the adjacent park area when you are finished.’ I’m not sure they understood but they kindly did not try to convince me to stay, nor did they make me feel badly after the fact.

During our self-drive holiday along the Wild Atlantic Way in Ireland this October, we came upon the Doolin Caves. We had the time to visit and it was a highly recommended stop, so we did. The only caves I’d previously visited were in locations you could access from a more or less horizontal plane, and a wide opening, but just below ground level. They were not via a single door entry point, 210 steps in descent, (about 90 metres) down into the earth, through some very narrow passages…facts which I did not learn until we had paid for our tickets. I know.

Part of the Wild Atlantic Way coast near Doolin Caves

Did I say I prefer earthier details and experiences? Yes, I think I did…

I firmly believe that the Universe conspires its energies to create the lessons that will help us move forward in life. I was on the cusp of my next lesson. Gathering courage, while trying to remain calm, I awaited the start of the tour. There were only eight members in the group, thankfully. I convinced myself, if necessary I could come back to the top. Under instruction we all donned bright yellow or white hard hats. I tried to distract my anxious brain by listening to the entertaining banter of the guide. He explained to us how the men who discovered the cavern crawled through narrow passages about 500 metres to get into it the first time. Somehow that didn’t have the reassuring effect I was hoping for. Still, as we slowly descended, I tried to focus as he built our anticipation for what we were to see at the end.

About halfway down the descent, despite the cool temperature, my palms began to sweat. I found myself taking deep breaths while continually repeating in my head ‘you can do this, you can do this.’ At about this point I pushed hard through the urge to turn and rush up the stairs. In my mind I knew I was not really in any immediate danger. Finally, we arrived at the main cave. It opened out before us, revealing the largest stalactite in the Northern Hemisphere. It was 28 feet long and it was a jewel. It was a difficult lighting situation and so briefly I forgot my fear as I tried to recall skills to get decent photos with my iPhone (my only camera).

We carefully picked our way through a couple of other smaller caves. And then, what goes down, must come up! Only 210 steps to freedom. Legs, don’t fail me now!

Reflection of stalactite in ancient water below

Graceful folds belie they are made of calcium carbonate, hard as stone and thousands of years old.

28 foot long stalactite, Doolin Cave

Once in the open air again, I felt the enormity of my achievement. It wasn’t, of course, seeing the biggest stalactite in the Northern Hemisphere. The big accomplishment was facing my fear. I don’t know if this is the last experience when I will have to face this particular fear, but knowing I got through this one will empower me in future.

In the words of Elmer Fudd:

Be bwave widdoe wabbit.

(I’ll have another Guinness please!)

(If you or someone you know has panic attacks, I feel my experience of testing the waters in modified and less threatening circumstances has been key to dealing with this challenge. Also, try to surround yourself with loving people who will not judge or embarrass you if you experience an episode in their presence. xx)

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I often take photos for Instagram or EyeEm, but for some reason I don’t end up using them on the blog. This morning when I read Ailsa’s travel theme of ‘hills’ I wanted to play along and share some recent photos that you may not have seen, or maybe won’t mind too much seeing again, in a larger format.

This place is so beautiful, and especially so in the early morning light when all of these photos were taken. It is truly soul stirring every time I see the beauty of the light on this land.

Here, where the sky and land are so expansive, it is hard to appreciate one without the other.

The hill, the tree, the moon and the sky

This very unusual cloud formed one morning, over the hills, and then in a few minutes was gone again. The hills often seem to influence cloud formation, so while this may seem like a cloud photo, it is also about the hills.

dramatic cloud above the hills

It seems impossible to me to take a scene of the surrounding ranges for granted when the light is so insistent that you pay attention. On this particular cloudy morning, there was a hole in the cloud behind me, and through it came this tract of light in front of me, lasting only a short while, as if to say ‘look at me’.

dramatic morning light on the hills

Sometimes the landscape speaks to me of olde world landscapes painted by the masters, and I can’t resist editing them to match my fantasy. The hills don’t really need me to intercede, of course, they are beautiful just as they are.

morning light on the hill, edited using DistressedFX app

Thank you for viewing ‘my hills’ in Central Australia. If you would like to see more hills from around the world, click on over to Ailsa’s page where more beauty awaits you.

The photo below is Boggy Hole. No relationship, except that one must occasionally use a bog roll when visiting Boggy Hole, because it is about 2.5 hours out of town, in the middle of everywhere, or nowhere, depending on your perspective.

Boggy Hole

One can get ‘bogged’, which means ‘stuck’, usually in mud, sand or bull dust.

One can get a ‘boggy bog roll’ if you leave your bog roll somewhere to get wet.

And one can do all of the above at Boggy Hole if you aren’t careful.

Happily, we only did one of these things. Can you guess which one?

Boggy Hole is in the Finke Gorge National Park and it is not easy to get to. It is rated medium to high difficulty for 4 wheel drive vehicles and it is every bit of that. Three vehicles of us, nine persons altogether, decided to have a day out and enjoy our gorgeous landscape before the heat of summer sets in. These photos are not indicative of how rough much of the terrain was, but you can’t take photos inside a vehicle that is bouncing from wheel to wheel and back again.

more intrepid travelers

all good fun

the view from inside–yikes!

some of the less rough terrain

On the way I was mentally snapping photo after photo, because, of course, when you are traveling with a group you cannot stop everyone so that you can take a photo. More’s the pity. Fortunately for me, we did have a couple of ‘pit stops’ and a flat tyre, as well as a challenging bit of landscape, that slowed us down and gave me a chance to take a few extra photos. The landscape is breathtakingly beautiful to me.

Sunrise from John Flynn Memorial

Mt Gillen in early light

Where waiting is beautiful but flat tyres are not.

Once we arrived at Boggy Hole, we all broke out our various contributions of food and drink and settled in for a few hours of chin wagging…and photo snapping. In the distance we could see some large birds on the water, among them Pelicans, Jabiru (large cranes), a couple of Darters, and some Black Swans. We all wondered how these water birds found their way to this remote place. But that is Nature for you–full of mysteries. Unfortunately they were too far away for me to get meaningful photos, and they scattered as soon as we got within any kind of decent range. There were quite a few dark cygnets swimming along with the larger Black Swan, very cute, of course. Did you know that Black Swans are indigenous to Australia? They are only seen worldwide because they have been sent, as novelties, and then bred afterward.

T and M sizing up the long range photos of the birds

reeds alongside Boggy Hole

viewing area of Boggy Hole

The walking was taxing, lots of deep sand and many rocks and deep weeds to navigate through. Between that and the tumbling action of the vehicle on the rough terrain, my body feels like the day after a first session of new exercise. But I can assure you, it was well worth the effort. It was one of those perfect weather/companion/scenery days that we will look back on in 20 years and smile…perhaps, while using some bog roll.

On the way to/from Boggy Hole, a ‘necessary pause’ allowed this photo

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We have been in the USA visiting and, hopefully, helping my Mother and immediate family for the last two and a half weeks. Our intentions were good, but our execution of the plan left a little to be desired. We had booked the trip 10 months ago when Qantas was having a good sale on Business class seats to the USA (two for 1!!). And at that time we had just returned from a trip there and it seemed like two weeks would be long enough. Erroneous thinking on many levels. We are left wondering what led us to this decision, so that we don’t repeat it.

Mum was good when we got there, but two of the last three days of our visit she was in hospital with an unexpected urinary tract infection. Did you know that this is a very common ailment in the elderly? The doctor who spoke to us was very nice and further informed us how this effects elderly people, and to some extent why. I thought I would share it since you may have someone in your family that is in a similar situation.

The doctor said that elderly patients, in general, have ‘less reserves’ in their system, so when this infection establishes itself it often appears that the affected person is confused and dizzy. He went on to explain why this happens. When a person has a UTI, they feel as if they need to relieve themselves more often than normal, thus dehydrating them slightly. This dehydration effects the blood pressure, so that when they stand, they are dizzy, and often fall. The dehydration also effects the brain function, and people can seem slightly more confused or less sharp than normal. If this is someone who already has some dementia, it can seem somewhat normal, since people have good days and bad days with that as well.

Members of Mum’s gardening group at the assisted living home.

In Mum’s case she had not really noticed the burning with the urination that is often the telltale symptom, and so she fell twice in three days while getting up in the night. We had spent all day with her both days, and she had not commented on symptoms, or seemed much out of the ordinary. In fact, we did not know about the first fall, until the second one happened. How this can happen in an assisted living place is a very long and involved story that has to do with patient consent and how the issue is reported etc. Regardless, it is just plain frustrating.

The second time Mum fell she was wearing her medical alert necklace, which has a motion detector on it. When it detects a fall, they try to contact the person. If the person is unresponsive, they send paramedics, which they did. Mum was unconscious so they took her to the hospital. They ran many tests and immediately established that she had the UTI and started antibiotics intravenously.

Through what can only be viewed as a snafu of ridiculous proportions (internet not working properly, phone not working, hotel not having us listed as registered guests, despite the fact we had been there for 10 nights already), no one was able to get word to us until we appeared at her apartment the following morning, to find her gone, but the dog there alone. The assisted living place was able to update us and that is when I learned of her fall three nights previously. None of the rest of the family even knew about that one, since she was not wearing the medical alert necklace that night (they are uncomfortable for sleeping and Mum had removed it)

Mum was very confused that day and the following day. It wasn’t helped by the fact that hospitals are lousy places to get any rest! We took her home on the second day, and after a night of sleep, and two days of antibiotics in her system, she was like a new person on the last day we saw her. We spent most of the day with her and then left for the airport to fly home to Australia.

Sometimes trips are good just to break you out of your normal routine

On the long haul flight coming home, heavy fog was predicted for Sydney, so our flight was diverted to Fiji for refuelling in case we had to fly around a bit before landing, or fly to a farther airport. So, 17 hours in the same seat on an airplane was a new record for us, and not one I care to challenge. The fog did not eventuate in Sydney, but farther up the coast.

Yesterday after we arrived home and went to the grocery, unpacked bags and made some dinner, I remarked “I’m sure I have some idea how Mum must feel when she is confused. My brain has the acuity of chocolate pudding.”

Mum is good and we are exchanging emails already. I am deliriously happy, having awakened in my own bed and now enjoying a really good cup of coffee. The brain is less pudding-y and more protoplasm-y this morning.

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If you already know the meaning of ‘relative humidity’* you won’t need to refer to the paragraphs at the end of this post, either way I don’t think you will really need it, but it’s there just in case. All I know for certain is, everything is relative. My four days and five nights in Darwin were, relatively miserable, temperature-wise and humidity-wise–but otherwise, it was a good break, if by ‘good break’ you mean makes you really appreciate being home again.

I decided some weeks ago to accompany my mostly sensible husband to Darwin while he participated in the NT Golf Open. I think he would agree with me in saying he didn’t actually compete, because competing would be another relative thing, as compared to endure, I suppose. Let’s just say he was not in the hunt for top honours. He did finish in front of a handful of players out of the 200+ field so I suppose that is something. And more’s the pity, he did not even enjoy it. But I’m sure the next time he considers going to Darwin to play golf, the experience will immediately bring him to his senses. If not, he will have me to remind him, for which I’m sure he will be, not so much grateful as, annoyed.

My plan was to catch up with friends. That was all. We usually stay in the city (small though it is) of Darwin, but this trip we decided to try a ‘boutique motel’ and hire a car. It was small, very small, but perfectly formed, save the very hard mattress; but good air conditioning and that was most important. Wipe that romantic notion about ceiling fans and mosquito nets being adequate in the tropics from your mind’s eye. That is just wrong.

The suburb of Parap offers several cafés, restaurants, a gourmet food shop, a couple of gift shops and a gallery and a couple of other options, and a Saturday morning market that has always been a favourite, going way back to our days of living in Darwin. We saw the very first few stalls begin to trade about 30 years ago and it has steadily grown into a Darwin institution. Sadly, there is little food from the market I am able to eat these days, but wandering through at 7.30am, humidity at 93% and temperature at 26C (79F) was still worth it to grab a few photos.

Early preparations at Parap Markets

Laneway Café, Parap

Papaya and bananas, locally grown

dumpling preparation Parap Market

Cyclone Café, Darwin

Cyclone Café breakfast

It was great to catch up with old friends and compare war stories. None of us escapes the ‘stuff’. Just as none of us will get out of this alive. We swap wisdom and compare treatments, catch up on our children and travels and before you know it the afternoon has slipped away. And at the end of the visit we always agree, we are relatively good. Lots of people we know are worse. Perhaps we are a tiny bit delusional too.

We managed to take in a wonderful exhibition by paper artist, Winsome Jobling; and also to fit in a walk along the East Point foreshore, looking back at the city through Poinciana trees that have yet to gain their leaves and flowers because they have yet to get the dry season weather needed for that. It was hard work for me in the morning humidity. Later in the day I was ‘at one’ with that aforementioned hard mattress in the air conditioned motel room.

Rocksitters point

Darwin through the Poinciana trees

East Point foreshore, Darwin

To complain about the weather does nothing to improve it, but it was good to know it wasn’t only this desert dweller that was feeling the distress of extreme humidity where dry breezes should have been flowing. The locals were even feeling it.

I gave up drinking hot coffee in preference to iced coffees, had two showers a day and had to hand wash undies and clothes because I forgot the ‘sweat factor’ of the top end when packing for a time when the dry season is not yet in full swing.

We often remark that travel makes us appreciate home more, and this trip was especially true in that respect. But I wasn’t expecting what happened at the end. I arrived home and stepped off the plane onto the tarmac (there are no air bridges at Alice Springs airport) into a morning, post rain showers, where the humidity was exactly 93%, as it had been most of the mornings in Darwin, except that the temperature was 16C (60F), ten degrees below the Darwin temps in the early mornings. It felt glorious! And that, my friends, is the perfect illustration of relative humidity. As if blazoned on a neon sign atop the airport terminal it dawned on me, yet again, the wisdom of those three words ‘everything is relative’.

home again, rain and all

(*Here is what Uncle Wikipedia says about relative humidity...“Humans are sensitive to humidity because the human body uses evaporative cooling, enabled by perspiration, as the primary mechanism to rid itself of waste heat. Perspiration evaporates from the skin more slowly under humid conditions than under arid conditions. Because humans perceive a low rate of heat transfer from the body to be equivalent to a higher air temperature,[3] the body experiences greater distress of waste heat burden at high humidity than at lower humidity, given equal temperatures.

For example, if the air temperature is 24 °C (75 °F) and the relative humidity is zero percent, then the air temperature feels like 21 °C (69 °F).[4] If the relative humidity is 100 percent at the same air temperature, then it feels like 27 °C (80 °F).[4] In other words, if the air is 24 °C (75 °F) and contains saturated water vapor, then the human body cools itself at the same rate as it would if it were 27 °C (80 °F) and dry.[4] The heat index and the humidex are indices that reflect the combined effect of temperature and humidity on the cooling effect of the atmosphere on the human body.”)

When we were recently in Ohio, visiting my Mother, we took her for several drives. Her mobility and stamina are such that it was easier to go for drives than to go to places where she would need to get out of the car and perambulate behind a walking frame. On the first drive we happened across one of the old covered bridges in the area. I can actually remember as a child driving through these bridges on several occasions; the sounds of the timber under the car tires and the strobing light shafts coming through the wooden slats as we drove slowly through. It may have even been this one at White Oak Creek, though it is no longer in use today. A lot can happen in 50+ years!

New Hope covered bridge, exterior

Inside New Hope covered bridge

Looking through missing boards of New Hope bridge at White Oak Creek, which it spans.

The purpose of the covering was to preserve the floor timbers from the weather, and to give a short respite to those traveling in nasty weather, which is common in this part of the world. Horses and buggies would have still been used when these bridges were built in the late 1800’s. These are the same types of covered bridges as from the film, and have similar heritage protection. There were originally 19 such bridges in Madison County, Iowa, only 6 of which remain. You can read more about them here.

As for the Ohio bridges, there remain over 125 to this day! You can see the list here, and view some photos as well. Each one has a character of its own and despite the obvious maintenance and traffic limitation issues, many are still in use. There are many, many more covered bridges throughout the United States and Canada, but it is surprising how many people have never seen one or even heard of them. They survive in out of the way places on country roads, and today most of us travel via expressways.

After we all enjoyed the New Hope covered bridge so much, we decided to make our next drive a purposeful effort to find Stonelick covered bridge. This one, 140 feet long, is still in use and we drove through it. I walked back through to take a photo and absorb the atmosphere. The timbers are so special. A car came while I was walking through so I did my best limpet imitation, and stuck carefully to the inside wall giving the car plenty of room. There was more space than I expected, so all was well. While these bridges are very evocative and even romantic, I imagine if this was the only access to your house and grounds, you would need to plan carefully for deliveries and work being undertaken.

Exterior, Stonelick bridge, still operational but only single lane.

Spring woodland surrounding Stonelick covered bridge

Bicentennial plaque, interior Stonelick bridge

Our little bridge excursions were a link back five or so decades for us, and 7 or so decades for my Mother; back to something special in a place where we all grew up, but much of which no longer resembles our memories of it.

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Due to an inability to digest onion and a few other frequent additions to soups I’m only able to eat my own homemade soup, or, oddly, a few flavours of tinned soups that are made with no onion. A few years ago, when I must have been short of time or energy, and thinking back fondly on childhood memories, I succumbed to the ease of opening a tin of soup. It was so heavily salted and sweetened I could hardly believe it. Next time I am short of time or energy I will stir a spoonful of Miso paste into a cup of hot water and float a few pieces of ginger in it for a more healthful repast.

On our recent travels, the weather was quite cool, icy and nearly snowing one morning, and every temperature and season between, over the four weeks. After a long, hot summer here in Alice, I had been yearning for soup weather again. Now that I had it, I couldn’t take advantage of it.

Red bud trees in bloom looking over the Ohio River

Unopened Red Bud blossoms with daffodils below

Cold weather moving into Cincinnati.

After a spring rain

Mom talked about soup nearly every day we saw her, that being a staple part of supper provided where she lives. My desire grew, but not for the institutional variety which she ate.

A couple of weeks ago we arrived home from our international travels on Tuesday and the next day we flew to Adelaide so my husband could attend a conference and I could visit with our daughter. Completely uninvited, a nasty upper respiratory virus found me and stowed away in my bag!

Three days after arriving back from Adelaide my husband was off to Melbourne. (I know, he doesn’t understand about this retirement concept!) I camped on the sofa with tissues, paracetamol and vegetable soup I had made from stock, frozen a couple of months before. In a viral haze that was nearly delirium, my mind drifted to the recent weeks’ events, trying to process it all and make sense of it.

Perhaps there is no sense to it. Except soup.

The fluid situations in which we found ourselves varied widely from something reminding me of the watery substance consumed in death camps in Nazi Germany to that comforting, warm and life-affirming variety made by my grandmother. She used to send someone to The Handy Store for 10 cents worth of beef shin bone, and we knew soup, studded with ceci and garden vegetables was not far off!

You can tell any soup that is made with love.

There is the bright, nourishing one brimming with friendship, seasoned with affection and support. There is the wholesome, mellow version, redolent of warmth and love, steeped from lifelong relationships.

And, there are the other soups.

Some are nearly toxic. Some are weak and unsatisfying, or reheated from a tin, containing ingredients that look like they could support life, but have little capacity for sustenance, in actual fact. We would do well to avoid them when we can. But sometimes we can’t. Why do those awful recipes get handed down in families, along with the delicious ones?

It is grim to see a situation for what it truly is sometimes. Once seen, a body needs to rid itself of toxic energies and heal. We are nearly there again, back to the good soup; the one that comes from the sun on the hills and simmers quietly in the cool autumn air, consumed amongst the tinkle of laughter and satisfaction of a life well lived.

Here is my favourite all-season soup recipe in its original form below, with my alterations in brackets. Most of the time I make my own version of this, always with no onion or garlic but varying spices, herbs or vegetables for flavour or with whatever I have on hand.

Summer Minestrone

Prep: 20minsCooking: ~45mins

1 T extra virgin olive oil

4 C water, Vegetable stock OR my preference [2 C chicken stock with 2 C water for a very light soup, or pure chicken stock for a heartier version]

1/2 onion, chopped

1 clove garlic, thinly sliced

[instead of above onion and garlic, I use 1/2tsp chilli flakes and 1tsp fennel seed]

1 x 400g can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed

250g waxy potatoes, cut into small 1cm (1/2inch) cubes

2 small carrots, cut into 1cm pieces

[I often add a fennel bulb that has been cut into 1cm (1/2inch) dice and/or celery for extra flavour]

3 large Roma tomatoes, cut into 1cm pieces (the original recipe says to peel and seed them, but I cannot be bothered)

[in winter I use good quality organic tinned tomatoes with juice instead of the tasteless winter tomatoes, this makes a heartier soup for colder weather]

1/2C fresh corn kernels

1 shelled or frozen peas

250g stringless green beans, topped and cut into 3cm pieces

2 heaped T shredded basil

sea salt

Crustybread to serve

1. Combine oil and onion in a large pan and cook over moderate heat until soft, for about 5mins, stirring frequently. Stir in garlic and cook for a further 1min.

2. Add potatoes, carrots and fennel, if using, also salt and chilli flakes and fennel seed and cook covered for about 20-30 minutes, or until all vegetables are tender.

3. Add tomatoes, cannellini beans, corn, peas and green beans and cook a further 5 minutes. Taste for seasoning. Immediately before serving scatter with basil and drizzle with olive oil.

Buon appetito.

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I’m sitting in Adelaide, Australia having the best coffee I’ve had since last time I was here. After the coffee purgatory of the United States, I’m deeply appreciative. It’s not just me either. We walked into the Qantas Club at the Sydney airport after our last trip and I overheard the couple next to us:

We are used to European style coffee here and the American coffee is very different. So different, in fact, I have given up and order hot tea in most places. In fact, in Southern Ohio and most of the Midwest, I’m afraid it’s not just the coffee that is lacking in flavour and quality. I hasten to add, I’ve had fabulous food in New York and California and occasionally at certain restaurants in between. But it’s a big country and easy to be led astray, and hard to know the local secrets, so we’ve had more bad to average meals than good ones.

Our recent trip had the priority of looking after my Mother who is frail and mostly unable to get out for meals. So we set a plan to have two meals a day, breakfast and dinner, so that we could spend the middle of the day with Mum. When you are only eating two meals a day, you want them to be good, but we had the added problem of being bone tired at the end of every day and didn’t really feel like much foraging.

Breakfast was the meal we really focused on because Americans have been eating breakfast ‘out’ for many decades and generally they do it well. Images of the classic American diner may spring to mind! ‘Two eggs lookin’ atcha, hon?’ However, I’ve realised my requirements for a good breakfast have changed. I want vegetables. In Australia, a normal cooked breakfast includes at least tomatoes and mushrooms, generally spinach and often avocado. In the Midwest, it more likely includes biscuits (scones) with sausage gravy, eggs, bacon/sausage or hash brown potatoes–delicious at its best, stodgy at its worst, and definitely light on the veggie content.

Typical American country breakfast

Buffet at Frisch’s

Fried pickles and mushrooms, oh my

After less successful attempts, we found a couple of places that were acceptable, one that was superb. The acceptable place is a modern day diner type franchise called Frisch’s Big Boy. When I was a girl we went there for burgers and cole slaw, strawberry pie and even good fish sandwiches, and French fries. Frisch’s has updated their offering with a fruit/veg/breakfast bar. We even noted a staff member using a digital thermometer recording the temps of everything on a clipboard, which reassured us that care was being taken to keep the buffet from salmonella surprise! This isn’t always the case, as you might know, with buffets being blamed for all kinds of things. So the food was not organic or local, and much of it was overly sweetened, fried, and oh, that liquid plastic cheese in the pump compartment! But I managed to put together a salad of raw broccoli, green peppers, pineapple and some cottage cheese and a bit of blue cheese dressing each time we visited. A few times I also had sausage and scrambled egg to see me through until dinner, some eight hours hence.

My salad bar breakfast

The real favourite breakfast was found at The Original Pancake House. They create a six egg veggie omelette, bacon and gluten free pancakes that made me so happy. Of course I could not even eat half an omelette that size, so my husband shared it with me. For all the hype that eating gluten free gets in California, Southern Ohio has not embraced the trend. After reading a few menus and online descriptions we gather that the requirements for serving gluten free might be a bit stringent there making those serving gf products prepare them in areas exclusively set aside. This might be helpful for Coeliacs but for people like me who are just gluten intolerant it meant very few options, as most restaurants can’t spare that kind of dedicated space. So the gf pancakes at the Original Pancake house were a treat several times during our three week visit.

Veggie omelette and bacon at Original Pancake House

Huge aquarium in background at The Original Pancake House

For those who want to plan lunch while eating breakfast

Breakfast was a bit of an adventure many days. Our second morning at Frisch’s a lady being seated next to us loudly shared with the waitress that she had brought her own coffee because their coffee was so ‘awful’ (her word, but I silently agreed with her). On another occasion the fellow being seated behind us ordered a ‘cherry coke’ for breakfast. As if coke isn’t sweet enough, cherry syrup is added to it for a cough syrup type flavour. I’m not judging (OK, perhaps a little) that’s just what the taste is like. Vanilla Coke is also popular in that category. I used to have a friend who drank Pepsi instead of coffee each morning, pointing out to me that it was caffeinated and sweet like coffee, to which I could but agree.

Our first morning eating the hotel breakfast a man and his son came in and the hostess asked if he was with the group eating in the conference area, to which he answered ‘Yes, but that food looks gross, can we eat here in the restaurant?’ Of course he was accommodated but we couldn’t help but think what a rude example the man was setting for his young son. To each his own, I guess.

The most memorable breakfast, however, had nothing to do with the food. One morning we were too tired to hunt-and-gather for breakfast, so we ate at the hotel. Early in the process while my husband was at the breakfast bar, I saw out of the corner of my eye, a man from a nearby table come rushing to the booth in front of me, toward another man standing, but bent over–choking! The younger man started performing the Heimlich manoeuvre on the older man who was the one choking. It was not a quick fix, carrying on for at least a minute or two. A woman who we later thought must have had some medical experience came over and was encouraging and coaching the younger man to keep at it. Most of the rest of us would have not been big enough or strong enough to have done the job. Eventually the older man expelled the offending food, and was able to catch his breath. Meanwhile, the waitress had phoned paramedics who showed up only about six or seven minutes after the event. They spoke with the older man and apparently the older man had had some previous issues with choking. The paramedic suggested perhaps he might need to slow down and chew longer, to which the older man responded: ‘I was trying to eat my breakfast before it got cold!’ It very nearly was not all that was cold! Several people went over to the young man to shake his hand and praise him for his fast work. It was a good reminder that for all our divergent tastes, good people are still around us.

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It is raining steadily today, having transformed from tiny ice crystals trying to decide whether or not to be snow. It is the last official day of Winter in Ohio, but of course Mother Nature is in charge, so the nasty stuff seems committed to the final hour just after midnight tonight! Robins hop along looking for good nesting material, geese are pairing off and the weather suits the ducks and their frisky pursuits without bother. While the earth is being reborn, the life who gave me life, and has been the repository of family love and knowledge is slipping away.

Fine weather for ducks

Every trip we have ever made to the Southern Ohio region, since growing up here and leaving it, has been important to us. But none more so than this trip. On our way here a couple of weeks ago, I checked email messages just as we arrived in Melbourne, Australia. There was word from my brother that Mum had been taken to hospital in an unresponsive state but had regained consciousness. It was with that limited information we departed for the USA the following morning. I knew there was nothing more I could do; we were getting there as fast as was possible. Still, I didn’t sleep a wink on the 14 hour flight, plus another 12 hours before arriving at 10pm that night at our destination. An update in LA told us she was awake, but even after a battery of tests the hospital staff was uncertain of the cause. She had two more episodes in hospital, nearly ‘coding’ and with the electric paddles and cart at bedside, ready.

When we arrived at the hospital they were prepping her for surgery to insert a pacemaker. There was SO much factual as well as contradictory information for us to absorb. I was the only child/next of kin present when the surgeon asked if we knew her medical history. I knew she had not had a history of this kind of thing but I had not seen her since early November and emails and video chats do not carry this kind of information. Things can change. I try to keep up but there is nothing like being there to inform a person. At least I knew who had the answers and could direct the surgeon to my niece who is a nurse and has good knowledge of Mum’s medical history. Eventually we were able to stop the procedure but not before Mum was on the table, draped for surgery! The surgeon, and we, thought it likely that the medicine she had been prescribed after a stent procedure in early January, was probably the cause of the episodes.

We brought her home to the assisted living apartment where she lives and began to try and unravel the cause of a variety of problems ranging from miscommunication between emergency crew to family response. It was so confusing. Every day there was a new piece of the puzzle to fit into the picture, and most days a new complication as well.

Home again with great grandson

Finally we established the cause of most of the issues. It was a small piece of paper called the File of Life that hangs on Mum’s fridge, in case of emergency. It had not been updated in nearly 4 years! So, in her unconscious state, incorrect information was given to the hospital, which was not even the hospital from where her heart specialist works. Incorrect facts layered upon misunderstandings. The situation surely could have gone a devastating way very easily. That dated piece of paper could have been the File of Death.

Despite our best efforts, we have all learned we must be more vigilant and proactive. Mum is not able to advocate for herself any longer. It is a shock and a steep learning curve when these things happen, but they happen to most of us in one form or another. It is obvious to me we were meant to be here exactly when we arrived, and doing exactly as we have done. I can see clearly now, the rain is gone… even if I can’t see all the obstacles in the way.

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The weekend just passed was a special one for us. We nicked off to Melbourne for a few days. The primary purpose was for me to meet one lady in particular, whose blog I have followed for a couple of years, as well as two others who I have met through the comments section of the same blog. The blogging community has been a revelation to me, and one of the more positive outcomes of our fascination with the internet and social media. The ladies’ whose blogs were represented at the lunch were Cecilia: http://thekitchensgarden.com/; Dale: https://elladeewords.wordpress.com/; Kate: https://talltalesfromchiconia.wordpress.com/; in case you want to have a closer look. Also joining us was Celi’s cousin who is from New Zealand but has been working in the Northern Territory for the last seven years. When we lived in Darwin on the northern coast we were not far from where Maria has been living. All very interesting how our lives have intersected, paralleled and overlapped.

Celi, originally from New Zealand–but living in the USA, is in Australia visiting her daughter who lives in Melbourne. Celi operates a farm half a day’s drive from my hometown. Kate migrated from England, and so there you have it, only one true Aussie out of the five of us! And none of us live in Melbourne but that is where we met. A truly global group. It was a uniquely simpatico meeting, in some ways like when you get together with special old friends and you just pick up the conversation as if you’ve never been apart—except that none of us had ever been together before!

The rest of our time in Melbourne was spent eating fabulous food, attending one of the more impressive art exhibitions of my life, and generally enjoying the urban offerings of Melbourne. On Sunday we nearly overdosed on city life, attending not one, but two ethnic festivals. The Melbourne Summer Japanese Festival was full of surprises, including many young people dressed in traditional costume as well as comic book character costumes. The Greek Festa was full of good smells andwonderfully evocative Greek music. Now that I have learned to share video clips with you, I may become a nuisance.

If you get a chance to see the Andy Warhol/Ai Weiwei exhibition please, go see it. It has been thoughtfully and carefully curated so that the exhibition is truly more than the sum of its parts. It is at the National Gallery of Victoria in Melbourne until 24 April, but hopefully it will visit other parts of the world before disbanding.

And if you ever get the chance to try ‘Crema Catalana’, the Spanish version of Creme Brulee, just do it.

Crema Catalana

Melbourne is a truly diverse, exciting city. I leave you with a gallery of photos from our short visit. (if you click on one of the photos you will be taken to a slide show that you can click through to see them in a larger format)